


you give me miles and miles of mountains and i'll ask for the sea

by brandywine421



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (2012)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:30:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brandywine421/pseuds/brandywine421
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He tells her he dreams in technicolor.  Not quite out of focus, but not real, never real.  He feels the blood on his face, feels fingers slipping out of his grip, feels the ice filling his lungs.</p>
<p>She envies his dreams.  Her dreams are only red and black.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you give me miles and miles of mountains and i'll ask for the sea

**Author's Note:**

> Dipping my toe into The Avengers' fandom. Post-movie Natasha POV. An experiment in limited dialogue that unwound toward the end.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"I'll never say it if you don't want me to," he whispers softly.  She kisses his collarbone, sucking gently until she leaves a mark from care instead of hurt.

* * *

  
She watches him and she wants.  She can taste him in the air, the back of her throat, every drop of rain, every patch of sunlight.  
  
The spark in his eye starts a burn in her gut, a heat that she can't stomp out.  
  
He's off limits.  Unattainable.  Untainted.  Unforgivable.  
  
Unforgettable.  
  
He's everything she can't have.  
  
She wants.

* * *

  
His touch is feather-light when they pass in the halls.  A hand on the arm, his fingers soft and friendly.  A squeeze on her shoulder, a hand on her lower back.  
  
To remind her he sees her.  She's not invisible because he sees her.  
  
He's not afraid to see.

* * *

  
It's a Thursday, almost noon.  She's tired and sore and when he puts his hand on her back, she leans on him.  He takes her weight without comment and his fingers burn holes into her resolve.  
  
He doesn't say anything, not that she hears but she finds herself climbing on the back of his bike and holding on.  
  
She pretends she can hear his heartbeat over the engine.  
  
He escorts her to her room and she wraps her fingers around his wrists before he can leave.  
  
Kisses aren't supposed to mean anything but he understands - 'yes' and 'please' from silent lips.  
  
He could stop her, he could slam her to the floor or break her in half - but he doesn't.  He kisses her back, cradling her head in his hands as she forces him backwards against the wall.  
  
She can't have him but she wants.  
  
She wants and she takes.  
  
Tonight she has nothing left to give so she takes.

* * *

  
"Tell me what you want, anything."  
  
It's the first time someone's said that to her outside of an interrogation room.

* * *

  
She threads her fingers with his under the table, his thigh tense beneath her fingertips.  His eyes are cold steel but she knows the twitch in his cheek, the line of his mouth.  
  
"Doctor," he says, the room going silent.  
  
People say she's threatening but he scares everyone when his team's in danger.  
  
His team is his family.  
  
She doesn't know any other kind.

* * *

  
He won't hurt her.  Even when she asks him to.

* * *

  
He tells her he dreams in technicolor.  Not quite out of focus, but not real, never real.  He feels the blood on his face, feels fingers slipping out of his grip, feels the ice filling his lungs.  
  
She envies his dreams.  Her dreams are only red and black.

* * *

  
He plays her games.  She's the untouchable Spy and he's America's hero.  They're teammates and courteous friends.  
  
He's a good actor.  
  
But she learns his cues at night.

* * *

  
She breaks first.  A crack in the armor she took years to seal up.  
  
The wall breaks under his weight, blood on the concrete - a clump of blond hair in the rubble - a cry more animalistic than human.  
  
The crack splinters.  
  
He moves, struggles and the creature charges.  
  
She can't breathe.  
  
She breaks.  
  
Arrows and energy pulses drive the monster away but she would have sprinted toward him even if it was still there.  
  
He tries to smile at her but there's too much blood in his mouth.  
  
She pulls his hand off his soggy stomach and he clutches her fingers sluggishly, desperately.  "Don't let them put me back in the ice, 'Tash."  
  
"Never," she promises.  
  
It takes five agents to get her to let go of his hand so they can load him into the helicopter.

* * *

  
Tony finds her.  The dried blood on her hands is cracking.  "He's going to be fine."  
  
She doesn't answer him.  
  
"Natasha," Tony whispers, his eyes dark without the mirth of innuendo.  
  
"I don't trust them," she says, her knuckles white under the brown flakes.  
  
"You work for SHIELD, they'll take care of him," Tony says after a long beat.  
  
"He's afraid.  He's afraid of what they'll do to him."  
  
She shudders, a full body rush taking her air and her knees.  
  
Tony's not Steve but he catches her before she makes impact.  His arms are warm and tight, holding her together until she finds her air.

* * *

  
She's stoic and silent when they're allowed to step into the room.  
  
Tubes and electrodes and beeping machines and bright blue eyes glazed over.  
  
He's in pain.  
  
Bruce and Clint go first and she's oddly grateful for Tony hanging back so she doesn't out them any further.  
  
He's alive.  It should be enough for her to lock down her walls and latch her armor in place.  
  
He's always the one to patch her up when she's splintered and hurt after a solo mission.  She doesn't see a spot on him that's not hurt or stained with blood.  
  
She catches his eyes searching the room as Bruce barks questions at the doctors.  He smiles.  
  
She breathes.

* * *

  
He doesn't care if people know, but she does.  
  
A spy can't have weaknesses.  She can't be weak.  
  
He makes her weak.

* * *

  
She calls it off before he can draw her back in.  
  
He doesn't push.  
  
He pulls.  His blue eyes watch her without meeting her gaze.  His cologne lingers when he's not in the room.  His voice strums in her ears when he's not talking to her.  
  
He pulls, tugging for her attention.  Unintentional or not, he's found a way underneath her armor, dulling her edges and softening her stone.  
  
She's never been this compromised before.

* * *

  
"It was different for her," he says to Tony when she's lurking by the kitchen.  Waiting.  Listening.  
  
"She cares about you."  
  
"Not the same way.  It's okay."  
  
"It's not okay."  
  
"It is," he replies softly.  "It has to be.  I would never have been enough for her.  But for a few days, a few nights, she was mine.  I've been getting by with memories for a while now, it's enough."  
  
"You should fight for her."  
  
"It's not a battle I know how to win.  It's not my war.  It's hers."

* * *

  
Tony never mentions anything to her, or anyone else but he sticks closer to Steve than before.  Coddling him.  
  
Protecting him.  From her.  
  
He doesn't act any differently, he's tactile with everyone but his touch still burns cold on her arm, shoulder, everywhere.  
  
He doesn't break.  He doesn't hide or beg or scheme.  He's a solid presence in her life, in her mind.  
  
He would fix her if she could be fixed.  If she would let him, he would break down her walls, shatter her armor.  
  
She can't let him inside and he knows it.

* * *

  
"Hate eats away at you.  It gets into your blood, behind your eyes, in your lungs with every breath.  Why did you think love would be any different?"  


* * *

  
"I'm not stupid.  I never expected you to love me.  But I thought we were friends.  I know it didn't mean anything to you, but...can I come in?"  
  
She doesn't let him in.  If she lets him in, she won't be able to let him out again.

* * *

  
She goes on a mission for three weeks.  It's the longest she's been away from the Avengers since its inception.  
  
She shuts down, she does her job.  
  
She pretends to smile, she spins her lies into a delicate web until the mark eats them from her hand and tells her everything she wants to know.  
  
The man looks at her with open eyes, enamoured with her false persona.  Steve had looked at her like that knowing full well who she really was.  
  
The fake giggles and playful makeout sessions with the corporate mole leave her exhausted.  Because she knows what it's really like.  
  
She hadn't known before, the feigned emotions were simply masks, cover stories listed primly in her mental rolodex.  
  
It's different now.  She feels the difference.  The choreographed touches mix with the memories of big hands on tiny wrists, the practiced kisses blur into flashes of arched backs and hot tongues.  
  
She can't bring herself to kill the weasel, turning him over to the soldiers to squeeze any scraps of information she hasn't already milked from his fangs.  
  
It's only when the SHIELD car pulls up to HQ that she realizes she doesn't want to do this anymore.  
  
She's supposed to be a blank slate.  She can become anyone she's told to become.  It's her penance for the faces she sees in vivid red in the black of her dreams.  
  
She can pay her penance with The Avengers as Black Widow.  She doesn't have to do this anymore.

* * *

  
"Watch," Clint says.  She's sharing his bench overlooking the bullpen.  
  
She's always watching Steve but Clint's comment draws her attention to him for the first time since the mission.  "What am I watching for?"  
  
"Bruce thinks Cap's banging Agent Hill," Clint says.  "I'm on surveillance."  
  
She zones in on her.  She's standing too close to Steve.  "What exactly did Bruce say?"  
  
"Thor swears that Cap's not a virgin, Tony bet 200 bucks that he got laid in the 40's and Bruce put 300 down that he's fucking Hill," Clint smirks.  "We had lots of bro time with you out of the house."  
  
"So you have no proof."  
  
Clint stills suddenly.  "Something you want to tell me?"  
  
Steve's leaning in, smiling kindly as he speaks to Hill.  She's stiff as always but there's a slight twitch in her controlled expression.  He puts his fingers on her forearm.  
  
She wonders if his touch still burns.  
  
" _Tasha_."  
  
"She won't make him happy," she says.  She flares white hot at the thought of Steve flashing his true smile to someone like Hill.  Someone that isn't her.  
  
"She makes him happier than he's been lately.  He's been down about the anniversary of the crash," Clint says slowly.  "Is there a reason you're cockblocking Cap?"  
  
The anniversary.  Steve showing up at her door asking for a friend.  
  
She's made a mistake.  But this isn't a mission.  There's no backup plan.  
  
"Natasha.  Are you..."  
  
"I pushed him away.  I pushed him out.  But he's still here, and I don't know how to get him out," she says, clutching her hand over her chest.  Clint folds his arms around her and she lets him.  
  
The embrace doesn't help.  But it doesn't hurt.  
  
Hill barks out an unattractive laugh from below and Steve laughs with her and she closes her eyes and Clint covers her ears with his rough hands.

* * *

  
"Did you go to Arlington?" she asks, stepping out of the shadows when he's pushing his key into his lock.  
  
"Hi, Natasha," he says, not looking at her.  "Can I help you?"  Formal.  Distant.  He's learned while she was gone.  
  
"I didn't realize.  When you came to me that night, I didn't remember the date," she whispers.  
  
"It's fine.  What do you need?" He looks at her finally with dark eyes.  Not dark with lust or concern or anger.  Dark with regret.  
  
"It wasn't my intention to hurt you.  "  
  
He shrugs but his eyes don't change.  He holds her gaze and waits.  
  
She's holding her breath.  It hurts.  "I don't know how to do this.  I've been pretending for so long that I don't know how to be real.  You make me real and I don't deserve it."  
  
His eyes flicker.  She pushes.  "I care for you, and I don't know how to handle it.  This, us, it's different.  I miss you."  
  
"Different from what?"  
  
"I don't know," she says, taking his wrist, tethering to him.  He has to listen.  "I don't have anything to compare to this."  
  
"'Tasha," he whispers, close enough that she can taste his breath.  
  
"I don't want anybody else to touch me.  I just want you."  She pushes.  "Please."  
  
He puts his arms around her, but he doesn't say anything.  
  
It's better.  It's not what she wants but it's more than she deserves.

* * *

  
She doesn't do it because of Steve.  
  
She's spent three nights in his bed with barely a ghost of a kiss on her forehead to soothe her fear.  
  
Fury doesn't question her and she doesn't offer an explanation.  He has her revised contract ready and she wonders how long he's been waiting for her to ask for the full transfer to the Avengers Initiative.  
  
He knows her better than most from years holding her leash and he knows what it's like manipulating the truth as an occupation.  
  
She takes the notarized paperwork with her official identity.  For keeps.  
  
It's light.  A clean slate.  She's Black Widow.  She's Natasha.  She doesn't have to be anyone else.  
  
She's an Avenger now, not a spy.  
  
She doesn't do it for Steve.

* * *

  
He traces the line of her back through thin cotton, hesitating on the scars he can't see through the cloth.  He knows her body like a map and she arches into his soft touch.  
  
She thinks it should hurt, the ice breaking inside her armor, but she's warm.  
  
She's in bloom.  
  
His fingers lift her shirt and she opens for him - her mouth, her legs, her heart.  
  
She can have this.  She might not deserve it, but she's going to take this and have this as long as she's allowed.

* * *

  
Agent Hill's dressed in a generic SHIELD sweatsuit when she finds Steve and Thor sparring and thoroughly destroying the gym.  She doesn't look up when Natasha sits down beside her.  
  
The woman's allegedly gifted with 'balls of steel' but she's not intimidated.  Maria's a soldier but she has never seen any scars.  
  
She waits the woman out, thick silence to lure out a conversation.  
  
Maria maps the movement of the men's form and she can almost see the internal gears ticking behind her eyes.  
  
"Is this an official evaluation?" she asks when the woman successfully ignores her without a twitch.  
  
Maria doesn't glance away from the practice.  "I have clearance to admire the view.  The way they spar is beautiful."  
  
She doesn't expect that answer.  She waits.  
  
Maria finally meets her gaze with a raised eyebrow, an invitation.  
  
"You seem to be more comfortable with superheroes now.  It's curious," Natasha says.  
  
She doesn't answer right away, her eyes tracking Thor's running tumble.  
  
"He came to the services," Maria says.  "He didn't know most of their names, he wouldn't have recognized them if he'd passed by them in the halls but he came to the services.  He's earned my respect."  
  
"Is that all he earned?"  
  
Hill turns to her with cool eyes.  "The problem with secret relationships is that when they end, there's no one to share your grief."  She pauses, turning back to watch the sparring.  
  
She opens her mouth to threaten the woman but Maria speaks again.  "Fury gave Coulson's cards away without a second thought.  Steve gave them back to me."  
  
Natasha's rarely surprised but she's stunned into silence.  
  
Maria's eyes flick towards her with a thoughtful expression.  "Didn't think it would be you."  
  
"Likewise," she replies.

* * *

  
He taps morse code poetry on her skin, not promises or secrets, just 'pretty words for a pretty girl'.  
  
He doesn't question her whispered Russian words against his throat in bed and she won't question his silent messages under his fingertips.  
  
She's not delicate but he treats her like glass, breakable in his supersized hands.  
  
He's careful not to break her carefully crafted stone but he's found his way underneath and he's filling in the cracks.  Having him doesn't make her weak.

He makes her stronger.

**Author's Note:**

> Title via 'Volcano' by Damien Rice.


End file.
